


Around The Throne

by Unoriginality



Series: Back To Where We Lasted [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: dealing with grief, grappling with faith, that church is based on one I went to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unoriginality/pseuds/Unoriginality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bucky's death, the youngest Barnes sibling starts looking to the Good Book for answers that he'd never needed before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Around The Throne

**Author's Note:**

> No, this is not meant to be a belated Easter story, nor is it meant to convert anyone. In fact, I'm not even Christian, I have no desire to convert anyone to that path. This is written in honor of my own older brother, who died today, March 28th, in 1994.

_god must need another angel_   
_around the throne tonight_   
_your love lives on inside of me_   
_and i will hold on tight_   
_it's not my place to question_   
_only god knows why_   
_i'm just jealous of the angels_   
_around the throne tonight_   
-Jen Bostic

The day the news came in was the worst day of Peter's life. It wasn't the first death in the family; Grandma had passed, the great-grandparents were all gone, and Aunt Betty had died in jail after being arrested at a speak easy back in the twenties.

But Bucky's death hit them all harder than any before. His mother cried more than she had with her own mother's death.

The Army merely told them he'd gone MIA. Missing In Action. But Steve wrote them, told them the truth.

Bucky had fallen. Bucky couldn't have survived it. But Steve would come home and try to make things as right as he could.

But he didn't come home either.

Peter's family didn't really do any rituals for when someone in the family died. His dad was an evolutionary biologist and his mother, while she wasn't terribly specific when asked about Easter services or such, would simply shrug and say "I don't do that anymore." She'd been raised a Protestant, but had obviously left her faith.

But she had lit a candle for her mother's passing. She said it was to honor the dead. Maybe her mother had a soul, she'd said. Maybe there was something out there. And if there was, a candle would guide her mother to wherever her new home was.

Peter tried that when Bucky died, but it felt hollow. Bucky had been an igtheist. His father was an atheist, his mother didn't seem to care, and Paul and Rebecca had followed in their father's footsteps.

Peter had at one time, too. Now, he wasn't so sure.

The day Steve's letter came in, they'd all cried even more than when the Army had issued the Beloved Son's MIA status. It was like a nail in a coffin they'd been holding their breath to listen for. There it was. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Since Bucky's official status in the Army was MIA, there was no military funeral. No folded flag. No twenty-one gun salute. No medals to put in a shadow box with the flag. No place of honor in Arlington.

Just an ambiguous legal status and a letter from Steve saying what the military wouldn't say.

His oldest brother was dead. His favorite sibling. The one that'd visit at least twice a week, helped him with his homework, taught him to fight. The one who had a smile like the sun that lit up when Peter would practically pounce him in a big hug when he visited with a 'welcome home.'

Those visits would never happen again.

But that was something Peter didn't want to believe. He wanted to believe- wanted to so badly -that he'd see his brother again some day. That he'd run and grab his brother in a hug and hear Bucky say 'welcome home' when he someday joined him in that 'maybe there is something out there' that his mother lit candles for.

That maybe wasn't good enough.

His parents were at Bucky's apartment, cleaning out possessions and cleaning for a new resident, the day that Peter made what he hoped wouldn't be a decision his father would disown him for.

Rebecca was out smoking a cigarette, something Bucky had disapproved of strongly and Peter almost- almost -went out and yelled at her for it, but he had better things to do that day. He dug out the family Bible from the top shelf of one of their bookcases, hidden away in a corner in a bookcase that was mostly filled with textbooks and scientific journal issues. It was an odd juxtaposition.

The Bible was only there because his mother had inherited it from his grandma. Grandma had still been religious, and while Aunt Patricia was still religious and could've taken it, Mom was the eldest of the siblings, and the one with children that might accidentally keep the book in good shape out of respect for books, and out of respect for the family.

That Bible was many things, including a record of the family, births, marriages, deaths.

Peter opened the book to the first pages, the family records. Near the end, in his mother's neat script, was Bucky's name. _James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes - March 10 1917 - August 18 1945_.

That last date felt so final. Peter couldn't stomach the idea of that just being the end.

He had to believe in an afterlife- any sort -where he'd see his brother again. He needed a god. He needed a church. He also needed to be careful about which church he chose to plant his butt in the pews. He didn't know of any church that would accept a young homosexual man.

That was something that might have to be dealt with later, though. Much later. Much much later.

He flipped the pages to the New Testament, where all the good stuff was supposed to be. His brain couldn't wrap around a lot of it, so much of it seemed ridiculous to his atheist-raised brain. But he couldn't help but like some of what Jesus said. _"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son..."_ The kingdom of Heaven, where any were welcome.

His brother hadn't been a believer, but he'd been a good man, a strong man, a generous man, taking care of all his siblings and Steve. Steve. The man who needed Bucky the most, and the blood of their covenant was stronger than any Peter had ever seen anywhere else. Surely that counted for something. Surely a loving god that would sacrifice his own son would see what a good man Bucky had been, see that Steve- a believer -would need him up there, and let him in despite what the religious society said about having to believe to get in.

They said God worked in mysterious ways. Peter couldn't believe that if he existed, if he was so loving as Jesus said, he would turn Bucky away just because he hadn't been a believer.

Peter wanted to see Bucky again so badly that he'd believe any crazy thing he heard.

Well, no, not any crazy thing. But he was willing to give God a chance. Give Jesus a chance.

_John 15:13 - Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends._

If God was a loving god, Bucky was already there in Heaven, believer or no. No greater love. If God couldn't reward that, then Peter would drop the idea of religion entirely.

But he wanted to give that tiny hope that verse gave him a chance.

It was his mother who got home first, which relieved Peter. He wasn't ready to broach the idea of religion to his father just yet.

His mother was sitting at the dining room table when he approached her, carrying the Bible with him, the page with the passage in John bookmarked. "Mom?"

She turned her head in her palm, one elbow propped up on the table and the other clutching a handkerchief. Her eyes were red. "What is it, Peter?" She sounded exhausted, like she'd spent the entire time at Bucky's apartment crying.

He sat down next to her, and opened the Bible to the book of John. He pointed to 15:13. "Tell me about that verse."

She stared at the Bible. "I don't think that thing's been used except for the family records in years," she said distantly, pulling the Bible over to herself to read the passage asked about. She didn't answer for the longest moment, her lips moving slightly as she read the words over and over again. Finally, one corner of her lips lifted, just slightly, even though her eyes filled with tears again. "It reminds you of Bucky, doesn't it?"

Peter took the book back before his mother's tears could fall on the pages. "Yeah," he said. He stared down at those words, rereading them for what was probably the thirtieth time that day. Then he looked over at his mother. "I want to believe this. I want to see Bucky again."

His mother sobbed, a broken sound, then sniffed, drawing in a deep breath, then wiped the tears away with her handkerchief. "You want to go to church."

He nodded. "Not Steve's. What Bucky said of the Catholic church, it's a bit too kooky for my tastes. And in Latin. I don't know Latin."

His mother laughed in a burst of unsteady air. "I remember him saying that." She sat up, taking another deep breath, then looked at Peter. "You'll want a more liberal church, coming in from atheism. I'll look around for you, see what I can find. Some of my bridge friends attend churches that sound more progressive than the one I grew up in. You wouldn't be happy in Grandma's church. I'll ask the next time I see the ladies, okay?"

"Thank you, Mom," he said, closing the Bible carefully. He scooted his chair closer to his mother's so he could wrap his arms around her shoulders.

Her expression crumpled, turned to hold him in a grip tighter than he remembered her every having, tears and wailing brokenly on his shoulder. The words 'he's gone oh god he's gone' escaped through the sobs, warped into barely recognizable sounds.

Peter held her, crying himself, but more controlled, determined to be the strong shoulder she needed just then.

Now he had to believe. He had to believe that Bucky was still somewhere, not here, but not gone, either. His mother's tears demanded it.

His mother's bridge friends recommended the United Church of Christ to him, two of them members and the others a bit too baffled by an atheist wanting to convert to offer their own suggestions. It took a bit looking, but he finally found one of their churches. His mother told him that going to church required dressing up a bit, so the first Sunday he screwed up the courage to go, he pulled on his dress slacks and his shirt and tie.

Nobody questioned him leaving that morning, early enough that the sun hadn't even risen. His mother must've told his father about Peter's decision and warned him off discouraging him from going.

The congregation at that early service was small, smaller than Peter expected. He sat as far back in the pews as he could politely sit, one empty row between himself and the other dozen or so worshipers. The hymns were nice, although he more followed along in the book and didn't sing, listening to the melody and committing the words to memory, on the chance that he came back and the song was used again.

The prayers spoken by the pastor didn't beg God for mercy, they requested his love, his presence, and the hope he offered. Peter felt a bit better about his choice with this particular church.

Then the sermon, a twenty minute lecture about the love of Christ, thanking God for watching out for the soldiers that had returned, and equally thanking him for taking in those who hadn't returned into his loving arms and giving them the peace they'd earned.

Felt even better. Those were the words he'd wanted to hear.

After the sermon, another hymn was sung, and again, Peter refrained from singing, listening to the music played on a lone piano and the voices of the others there raised up with a sort of happiness that had been missing from Peter's life the day his family got the news.

Then came a strange ritual, one Peter wasn't sure what it was. The pastor called it communion, broke a round loaf of bread in two. "This is my body, given for you." Peter recognized those words from the gospels he'd been reading over. The pastor poured some red wine into a goblet, and what looked like grape juice into another one, then held up the goblet with the wine. "This is my blood, shed for you."

Okay, wait, were they really supposed to eat that stuff? Maybe religion was a bit too weird for him after all. Maybe he could just read the Bible in the peace of his own home and not worry about a church.

"Come to Christ's table," the pastor said. "This bread and this wine represents the selfless act of love given to us. Let us honor this love."

Peter decided to sit back, to not join in. Hearing that it was merely a ritual to honor the crucifixion and not any crazy ideas about the bread and wine being literally anything but bread and wine settled down his confused thoughts a bit. But he didn't feel it was his place to join, still not certain, still not part of the church.

One of the women who filed out of the pew last walked back to him and offered her hand. "Come on," she said. "Come join the family."

A church family? Another new concept. He shook his head. "I'm not even sure I'm a believer yet," he said quietly, hoping that wouldn't get him kicked out.

She smiled. "Everyone's welcome at Christ's table," she said. "Believer or otherwise."

Believer or otherwise. Bucky may have been an otherwise, but if this woman was right, if the pastor was right, if those verses in the Bible were right, his brother was already waiting for him in that fuzzy concept of Heaven.

He took the woman's hand and joined the congregation at the table.

That communion was the first time he really believed.

He'd see his brother again. There was no more doubt in his head about that.

 _Keep the porch light on up there for me, Bucky,_ he silently thought as the goblet of wine was passed to him for him to dip his small chunk of bread into. _I'll come home when my work's done._


End file.
